


At the Seams

by ricekrispyjoints



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Author is trans, Communication, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, M/M, Medical Procedures, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Surgery, Team as Family, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Oikawa Tooru, in which i once again project my surgical experiences on oikawa tooru, not too graphic but if you're squeamish advance with caution, top surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 22:06:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18352628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricekrispyjoints/pseuds/ricekrispyjoints
Summary: It’s been four years since Oikawa decided to do this.It’s been eleven months since he officially started the process.It’s been sixteen weeks since it was put on the schedule.It’s been three days since high school graduation.And in a few hours, Oikawa will finally, finally be free.***Oikawa finally gets top surgery, Iwaizumi is eternally patient, and Oikawa learns that maybe -- just maybe -- Talking About It is a healthy way to handle things.





	At the Seams

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO, long time no post !  
> That's mostly because I was working on a 30k translation (oof) which I hope to post... soon ?  
> But in the mean time, I have wanted to write this story for a while and I finally found the time and the words I needed for it.  
> The top surgery experience itself is, you guessed it, very heavily based on my own. I decided to be nice and not give Oikawa my complications--I'll spare you the details, but it was Unpleasant and made my recovery several weeks longer than it was meant to be.  
> titles are horrible, yes that's a terrible joke about stiches or something

It’s been four years since Oikawa decided to do this.

It’s been eleven months since he officially started the process.

It’s been sixteen weeks since it was put on the schedule.

It’s been three days since high school graduation.

And in a few hours, Oikawa will finally, finally be free.

Iwaizumi is holding his hand as various hospital staff come in, ask him questions and explain things like anesthesia to him. He signs a couple of forms that say he understands what’s happening, and he’s so grateful that he’s eighteen and can sign his own consent forms.

His mother… didn’t want to be here. Oikawa tells himself she didn’t come because she’s squeamish, which at least has the benefit of being true. But he knows the real reason she didn’t come.

She’s trying—she really is—but after so many years, Oikawa wishes that she would get past “trying” and onto “accepting”. She’s never told him no, at least; never told him he couldn’t do something or that she wouldn’t love him anymore, nothing like that. But she just cannot understand why Oikawa wants this, and after six years, Oikawa is tired of trying to convince her.

So, they agree that Iwaizumi will take him to the hospital, and that Oikawa will recover at Iwaizumi’s house—at least the first week—and hopefully, she’ll be a little more on board once she sees how happy this is going to make Oikawa.

His surgeon comes in, and Oikawa is glad to see a familiar face among the revolving door of guests his little pre-op room has had.

“Sakamoto-sensei, good morning,” Oikawa says. “I was wondering when I’d get to see you.”

“Good morning, Oikawa-san. How are we feeling?”

“A little anxious, but mostly in a good way,” Oikawa says. He glances at Iwaizumi, and his boyfriend nods encouragingly.

“Any questions for me?” Sakamoto asks.

“I don’t think so,” Oikawa says. “Other than how much longer do I have to wait?”

“Not much longer now. Things are being set up in the OR, and I’m here to do a little doodling,” he says, chuckling to himself. “Then when the OR is ready, we’ll get you started on the anesthesia, and off we go.”

Oikawa quickly realizes that Sakamoto literally means doodling as he pulls out a sharpie marker.

“Would you like Iwaizumi-san to step out for this? I’m going to need you to take off the gown so I can see your chest,” Sakamoto explains.

“Oh, um… He can stay. I don’t mind.”

“As you like.” Sakamoto gestures to him to stand up, and with a steadying breath, Oikawa lowers the hospital gown.

The air is a little chilly, and Oikawa hates how exposed he feels, but he just keeps telling himself that this is so worth it, and it’s quite possibly the last time he’ll ever have to feel this way.

Sakamoto is professional as ever. Though of course he’s seen Oikawa shirtless before, he regards Oikawa’s chest with clinical detachment and sets to work.

The sensation is odd, feeling the marker run over his skin. It also feels strange to have someone scrutinizing his chest from only a few inches away, but Oikawa closes his eyes and tries not to think about it too much.

Sakamoto finally takes a step back, examines his handiwork, and nods curtly.

“You can put the gown back on,” he says.

Oikawa shuffles it up as quickly as he can, and hops back into his bed, shuddering as he pulls the blankets over his lap.

“Next person who comes in should be to get your anesthesia started. Hang in there,” Sakamoto says, and he leaves through the pale yellow curtain that marks Oikawa’s “room”.

Iwaizumi leans over the guard rail of the hospital bed to kiss Oikawa’s forehead. “I’m so happy for you,” he says quietly.

Oikawa pulls him in close for a quick kiss on the lips. “I’m so happy, too.”

“Feels weird to say I’m happy you’re in a hospital though.”

“Yeah, maybe a little.”

They talk quietly for another twenty minutes or so until a nurse comes in and tells them it’s time.

The next few moments are a blur, but as Oikawa starts to feel sleepy, he feels Iwaizumi squeeze his hand one more time.

 

The first time Oikawa is aware of being conscious, he feels like he’s not breathing.

A distant, slightly distorted voice is talking to him, and he tries to focus on what it’s saying.

“Take deep breaths for me, Oikawa-san,” the voice says, the ripples of the distortion finally dissipating. “Take deep breaths. I need you to take deep breaths.”

Even still, it takes him another moment to actually process what the voice is saying.

Huh, maybe he wasn’t really breathing that well.

He takes in as deep a breath as he can, but his whole body feels heavy and weird and he doesn’t quite remember where he is or what’s going on, though he’s not too worried about it.

Mostly, he just tries to keep breathing.

 

The second time Oikawa drifts awake he feels a little more coherent.

It’s not much, but the voices sound less like they’re in an echoey hallway a hundred feet away, at least.

“Keep taking those deep breaths, Oikawa-san,” one voice tells him.

“You’re doing great, Oikawa-san,” a second voice tells him.

Oikawa opens his eyes slowly, and everything looks blurry and strange and the yellow fluorescents distort the colors and give everything a strange sort of glow.

“We’ll bring you back to your …” the first voice begins to tell him, but Oikawa doesn’t hear the rest as he falls back asleep.

 

The third time he wakes up, he knows where he is.

His vision still seems sort of odd, but his breathing feels easy and he knows he’s in the hospital.

He knows he just came out of surgery.

A slow, goofy grin spreads across his face, and his lips crack from how dry they are.

He suddenly realizes that his whole mouth feels like sandpaper, and that he would possibly _kill_ for a glass of water.

Well, he’ll worry about the killing when he feels a little stronger, maybe.

When a nurse comes to his bedside to check one of the machines that beeps and whirs quietly next to Oikawa, he tries to ask for water.

His voice is scratchy, and his throat kind of hurts, but after a couple of failed attempts, his question comes out.

“In a few minutes,” the nurse says. “We want to make sure you’re fully out of the anesthesia first.”

“Please, just a little sip. I feel like I’m dying,” Oikawa croaks.

The nurse laughs at him, the audacity. “In a few minutes. I’ll let your doctor know you’re thirsty though, alright?”

Oikawa sighs but accepts the response—not that he has much choice.

A few minutes later and another nurse tells him he’s being moved to a recovery room.

“Will I get water there?”

“Yes, that should be fine.”

“Thank you,” he says earnestly.

 

In the recovery room, Iwaizumi is waiting for him.

When he sees his boyfriend, Oikawa’s eyes flood with tears. He’s not sure why it’s hitting _now_ , the emotion of this moment—this moment that he’s dreamed of for four years—but it is and while things like “utter happiness” and “relief” are at the forefront of his mind, there’s also a little thought that he shouldn’t cry, because he’s already so thirsty, and the tears will just dehydrate him more.

Iwaizumi looks visibly emotional as well, and he even covers his mouth with his hand.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Iwaizumi says as the nurses put the brakes on Oikawa’s rolling hospital bed. “How are you feeling?”

“I did it,” Oikawa says, that lip-splitting grin spreading like honey off a spoon.

“Yeah, you did,” Iwaizumi says, and he smiles back.

“And I’m _so_ thirsty,” Oikawa whines.

“I’ll bring you some water, Oikawa-san,” one of the nurses says.

Oikawa groans in relief.

“Thank you,” Iwaizumi interprets.

The nurse smiles and slips out of the curtained-off room.

“How are you feeling?” Iwaizumi asks again, once they’re alone.

“I’m so happy,” Oikawa says.   

“I’m so happy you’re happy,” Iwaizumi says, mocking the sort of dazed-slash-stoned lilt of Oikawa’s speech.

Oikawa doesn’t really notice, fortunately, because he’s too busy staring at his chest.

Or well… his lack of chest.

For the past five years, Oikawa has done his best to ignore, to hide, and to curse the existence of his chest, and now he’s _free_.

Gingerly, he places his hands on his chest, and revels in the fact that it takes just a little longer to reach his body than it did before, his awareness of his own body not quite up to date yet.

He’s surprised to find that touching his chest—through the bandages and the hospital gown, of course – doesn’t hurt at all.

In fact, he can barely feel that his hands are touching his body at all.

“It’s completely numb,” Oikawa says in wonder. “I sort of thought it would be sore.”

“Maybe you’re still out of it from the anesthesia?” Iwaizumi asks.

The curtain pulls aside, and Dr. Sakamoto smiles at them. “Welcome back, Oikawa-san.”

“Hello,” Oikawa says. “It’s numb. Should I be numb?”

“Oh yes, you’ll feel numb for quite a while,” Sakamoto laughs. “We separated most of the nerve endings in your chest, so they’ll take a few weeks to months to re-attach.”

“That’s actually pretty logical,” Iwaizumi says, “and yet I hadn’t thought about it before now.”

“You should regain feeling gradually, though you may experience some mild nerve pain as it comes back,” Sakamoto explains. “If it gets too intense, we can talk about medications, but most people experience it as a momentary discomfort which passes in about ten to fifteen seconds or so.”

Oikawa nods, blinking hard as his brain struggles to get fully back online.

“Now, I’m here to go over discharge information,” Sakamoto continues. “Iwaizumi-san, you’ll be staying with Oikawa-san the whole time, correct?”

“Yeah, he’s gonna be staying at my house for at least the first week.”

“Great. It’s always easier to have help. So, no lifting your arms for at least the next five days. Do not carry more than 2 kilograms of weight. You’ll need to measure and record the fluid output in your drains twice a day, and empty them, so we know when you’re ready for them to come out.”

Sakamoto shows them the drains: round plastic bulbs that fit in the palm of Oikawa’s hand are attached to small tubes that disappear into the folds of the bandages, and then pinned to the wrap so they don’t dangle all over the place, or worse, get snagged on something.

There’s already a little liquid inside, and Oikawa crinkles his nose at the sickly reddish-orange color, because it does _not_ look pleasant.

Sakamoto explains how to measure the fluid, giving them a little card to mark the date and time of day and the fluids for each side of his chest. Iwaizumi looks attentive, which Oikawa is grateful for.

“For now, don’t touch the bandages. They’re there to keep the swelling down. We’ll schedule a follow up in three days, where we’ll take them off, I’ll see how you’re healing, and we’ll talk about other after-care things,” Sakamoto says. “Focus on resting, take the pain killers as you need them, measure the fluids, and _don’t life your arms_.”

Oikawa nods firmly.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Iwaizumi promises.

Oikawa has to wait a little longer until the anesthesia has worn off more before he can go home, so he and Iwaizumi chat together and text friends and family that the operation is over and that he’s recovering.

Oikawa begs Iwaizumi to take a photo of him, since he can’t lift his arm to an appropriate selfie angle right now, and Iwaizumi rolls his eyes but complies.

Another forty-five minutes later, and the nurse comes by with discharge papers.

“Do you have a long drive home?” she asks while Oikawa signs and initials the forms.

“Should be about thirty minutes or so, depending on traffic,” Iwaizumi says.

“Taking a cab?”

“Yes,” Iwaizumi says, almost with a laugh, because neither of them have a driver’s license.

“Make sure he goes to the bathroom before you leave. Anesthesia tends to make you need to go _bad_ ,” she says knowingly.

“Duly noted,” Iwaizumi chuckles. “Well, shall we get you to the bathroom then?”

“I don’t think I need to go yet,” Oikawa says as he hands the clipboard of paperwork back.

“Oh, you will,” the nurse promises, and she leaves the room.

“I think I feel a little threatened,” Oikawa says seriously, eyes fixed on where the nurse just left the room.

“Oh, you’re fine,” Iwaizumi groans with an eye roll. “Anyway, you should try to go to the bathroom, when you’re ready.”

“I can hold it half an hour.”

“Something about the way she was talking makes me think that you really won’t.”

“Okay, so let’s wait ten minutes, I’ll try to go then, and we’ll head home. Deal?” Oikawa asks.

“Yeah, alright. But if you wet your pants in the cab, I’m absolutely laughing at you.”

“You’re the meanest boyfriend,” Oikawa whines.

“I mock out of love,” Iwaizumi says innocently.

Oikawa just pouts.

Before they leave the hospital, Oikawa successfully goes to the bathroom.

Pulling his pants up was annoyingly difficult, but he should be fine for the car ride home.

 

He is not fine for the car ride home.

They’re only about fifteen minutes from Iwaizumi’s house, but he has his legs crossed and is on the brink of tears.

Iwaizumi makes the driver stop at a fast food restaurant and Oikawa gets out of the car as fast as he possible can.

He nearly sobs with relief when he makes it to the toilet without peeing his pants.

Iwaizumi buys a small soda so the restaurant doesn’t get mad at them, and they get back in the cab, thanking the driver for his patience.

He shrugs, and they drive on in silence.

They finally make it home, and Iwaizumi sets Oikawa up in bed with a bunch of pillows arranged in a sort of u-shape that almost looks like a chair.

He brings him a water bottle and his tablet, so he can watch a movie or read something.

Oikawa gets settled in, arranging himself painstakingly slowly, since even things he wouldn’t think would hurt are very sore and impossibly weak, and sighs with relief when he is finally comfortable.

He logs into his Netflix account and—

Dammit, he has to pee again.

 

For the first two days, Oikawa does approximately nothing.

The pain is tolerable, mostly because he’s so numb he barely feels anything at all. On occasion, he’ll stretch too far or lift his arm too high and he lets out a small gasp of surprise at the sensation. It’s not really pain, exactly, Oikawa thinks: his knee and ankle problems had been _pain_ , but this is nothing more than a dull discomfort so far.

Before his surgery, Oikawa had read advice blogs online. They had all suggested wearing button-down shirts for at least the first few days, if not a week after surgery, as lifting your arms to put on a t-shirt was supposedly difficult going on impossible. Oikawa had assumed that it would be tricky, but the only button-down shirt he owns is his high school uniform, and he certainly doesn’t want to wear _that_ while he’s recovering.

Coming home from the hospital, he had worn nothing but a zip up sweatshirt in the cool, late March air, but at home, Iwaizumi’s parents still have the heating turned on, and he’s too warm. He really _cannot_ lift his arms, though, even if he wanted to defy his surgeon’s orders, so he put the zip-up sweatshirt back on, no shirt underneath, and drags Iwaizumi to a discount clothing store to find a couple more shirts.

They’re mostly incredibly ugly shirts—something that Oikawa has seen awkward American tourists wear—but they’re cheap, and he’s not planning on leaving the house much, anyway.

He does find a couple of plaid flannels, so he picks those up, too, for a total of five shirts that are roughly his size, albeit enormously baggy.

He figures if he wears enough deodorant, he can get away with not having to do the laundry in five days.

 

The biggest issue, though, is he’s bored.

His tailbone is sore from sitting all day, even when he gets up to take a little walk around the house or down the street.

Other than binge-watching Netflix shows and annoying everyone he knows on social media, he can’t really _do_ anything. He’s never been a gamer, and Iwaizumi refuses to give him his computer password so Oikawa can play on his boyfriend’s PC.

On the third day, Oikawa announces he wants to read his sports magazines.

“Why can’t you just read mine? I might even has some that you don’t,” Iwaizumi reasons.

“But I _want_ to re-read mine,” Oikawa whines.

Iwaizumi lets out a put-upon sigh, which is fair. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He gives Oikawa a quick kiss before he heads down the street to Oikawa’s house.

Oikawa refreshes his Instagram feed for the thousandth time in the past hour, though of course there’s nothing new.

After thirty minutes, Iwaizumi still isn’t back, and Oikawa starts to get a little nervous.

Could he somehow not find the magazines? They’re all on a shelf over Oikawa’s desk, neatly organized, so that can’t be it. And there’s only about forty, so it’s not like there’s too many for Iwaizumi to carry…

He should have been back fifteen minutes ago, which means there’s only one possibility left: Oikawa’s mother is grilling him for details.

Oikawa groans.

If she wanted to know how it went, she could respond to Oikawa’s texts, or she could’ve picked up the phone when he called last night. She could call him herself.

But true to who she is as a person, she is once again avoiding her own son because she doesn’t know how to “handle” this kind of thing.

“What is there to handle,” Oikawa mutters.

He hears the front door open, _finally_ , and then Iwaizumi comes up the stairs.

“Did my mom trap you?” Oikawa asks sympathetically.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, and Oikawa just _knows_ that it was an awkward conversation.

“You should’ve just told her to call me. Or pick up the phone when I call her. You didn’t have to put up with that.”

“I know, but… she was pretty worked up.”

“About what?”

“Well first of all, she was sitting in your room when I got there. Jumped like a meter in the air when I opened the door, even though I knocked before I came in the house and announced myself.”

“Why was she in my room?” Oikawa whines.

“After she got over the scare, she started going on about this like, ‘I don’t know my own child, how could I let this happen, he needed me and I left him’ and so on. And I told her that you had tried to contact her, that you _wanted_ to talk to her, that you’ve always wanted to be open with her about all this.”

“And?” Oikawa presses.

“And then she started crying,” Iwaizumi says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with my crying mother,” Oikawa says.

“I’ve dealt with you for over a decade; a crying Oikawa is nothing new to me,” Iwaizumi teases.

“Yeah but it’s my _mom_.”

“Well, in any case, seems like she wants to see you. If you’re up for it, I could walk you over there.”

“Let’s wait til the drains are out, because I don’t want to explain what the weird lumps in my shirt are. They will _definitely_ gross her out.”

“That’s true. They even gross me out, a little, so your mom would probably faint,” Iwaizumi laughs.

“I’ll text her, _again_ , I guess,” Oikawa sighs. “Thanks for getting my magazines, though.”

“Of course.”

“Do you… I mean, are you busy today? After your shift? I want to spend time with you.”

“I’m all yours after work,” Iwaizumi says. “Speaking of which, I should go get ready. I’ll bring you a snack in case you get hungry, alright?”

“You’re the best, Hajime,” Oikawa says with a cheesy grin.

“Yeah, I know.”

 

Oikawa alternates between making his way through the stack of magazines and dozing lightly during Iwaizumi’s summer job shift.

He’s halfway through magazine number four when Iwaizumi calls out that he’s back.

Oikawa stretches gingerly and gets up out of bed to meet Iwaizumi downstairs.

“Hey, glad to see you up and about,” Iwaizumi says in greeting, moving to kiss Oikawa on the cheek.

Iwaizumi’s parents are home, chatting quietly in the kitchen, and Oikawa is still self-conscious of kissing in front of them, despite—or perhaps, because of—how supportive they are.

When Iwaizumi had come out to them as gay, his mother had exclaimed how happy she was that he had told them, and his father had clasped his shoulder firmly and told him that he loved Iwaizumi no matter what.

When Oikawa had come out to his own mother as trans, she had gone silent, left the room, and then announced that she was going out of town for the weekend.

When Iwaizumi and Oikawa had told Iwaizumi’s parents that they were dating, Iwaizumi’s dad had hugged them both and said he knew they’d treat each other well, and Iwaizumi’s mother had given Oikawa the shovel talk before shrieking how happy she was that “her boys” were in love.

They still haven’t told Oikawa’s parents that they’re dating.

Maybe it’s the contrast with his own parents that makes Iwaizumi’s parents’ acceptance all the more strange. To be sure, Oikawa is grateful that he and Iwaizumi have a safe and accepting place to stay, especially while he recovers from this surgery, but he’s afraid that if he kisses his boyfriend in front of Iwaizumi’s parents, they’ll be a lot more enthusiastic than parents of a teenager should be.

“How are you feeling?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Bored,” Oikawa sighs.

“I meant physically, dumbass.”

“I know what you meant. My ass is sore, my skin feels tingly, and I can barely pull my pants up because my chest feels weird when I do,” Oikawa complains. “But mentally, I feel amazing.”

“I’m sure you do,” Iwaizumi says genuinely. “How many selfies have you taken, then?”

Oikawa scoffs. “Why would I take selfies? I haven’t been able to shower for three days and I’m perpetually wearing pajamas.”

Iwaizumi gives him a look.

“Fine, I’ve taken about a dozen,” Oikawa admits, “but you wouldn’t believe how high I had to turn up the filters so I don’t look like reheated wet garbage.”

“Very cute reheated wet garbage, though,” Iwaizumi chuckles.

“Rude, Iwa-chan!”

“Hajime, are you being mean to your poor boyfriend again?” Iwaizumi’s father asks from the kitchen.

“Lies and slander!” Iwaizumi defends himself.

“Poor Tooru-kun,” his mother joins in jokingly.

“Why do my parents like you better than their actual child?” Iwaizumi groans.

“Because I’m cute!”

“Because you’re recovering from surgery,” Iwaizumi’s father corrects. “Once you’re all better, it’ll be back to our regularly scheduled levels of love.”

“Which are also higher for you, Tooru-kun!” Iwaizumi’s mother laughs.

“The disrespect,” Iwaizumi complains.

“Now, now, son, we love you both equally,” his father says, trying and failing to hide a smile.

“This is sounding very _Animal Farm_ ,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “Anyway, can I help with dinner? I’m starving.”

“Sure thing, dear; go set the table and fill the water pitcher, please.”

 

On day four of recovery, Oikawa has his first follow-up appointment with his surgeon at 8:30 in the morning.

He’s in a good mood, because according to the fluid-tracker, the output has gone down quite a bit, and it’s his understanding that the nasty drains will come out when the fluid output is low enough.

He’s not sure how low is low _enough_ , but he hopes it’s today.

In any case, he’ll get to see his new chest for the first time today when the surgeon takes the bandages off, so he’s thrilled.

Iwaizumi is a bit sleepy, which means he’s in a very agreeable mood, and he smiles a bit dopily at how excited Oikawa is the whole train ride over to the surgeon’s office.

At the office, they only have to wait a few minutes before Sakamoto takes them back to the exam room.

He instructs Oikawa to remove his shirt, and then unpins the drains and has Oikawa hold them so they don’t dangle or get in the way.

Next, Sakamoto begins methodically unwrapping the bandages around Oikawa’s chest, re-rolling the wrap as he goes. There are actually three separate bandages covering his chest, and it feels like it takes an eternity to uncover him.

Oikawa takes a deep breath and looks down.

There are two gauze pads covering his nipples, but seeing himself without the bandages is cathartic enough in its own right.

For one, it feels nice to let his skin breath a little bit.

Oikawa has worn a binder fairly regularly for four years, but the three Ace wraps is an entirely different story. As he takes a deep breath and feels his ribs expand further than they have for the past three days, he understands very clearly why they are not safe to bind with.

“Can we take these off?” Oikawa gestures at the gauze.

“Yes, I was just getting to that. Patience, Oikawa-san,” Sakamoto teases.

Sakamoto carefully removes the gauze pads, and brushes at something on Oikawa’s chest with a gloved hand, though Oikawa only notices the pressure, not the sensation on his skin at all.

Finally, Oikawa swallows carefully, and looks down at his chest.

It’s simultaneously the most beautiful thing Oikawa has ever seen and more than a little ugly.

His skin is wrinkled from the bandages, and his nipples look _crusty,_ like two giant scabs in the middle of his chest.

Gross.

He also, obviously, has two long, freshly healing scars underneath his pecs, which are red and a bit puffy and don’t look good at all.

“It’s only been a few days,” he reminds himself under his breath.

It’s more or less silent in the exam room, though, so of course Sakamoto and Iwaizumi hear him.

Fortunately, neither says anything, and just let him take in what he’s seeing.

He tries to focus on the good – the whole reason he did this, of course, was to get rid of the horrible chest that has plagued him for four years.

Despite sports and being incredibly fit, they were still _there_. No amount of exercise could get rid of them. And not being able to bind during volleyball made it even worse to put up with. 

He has a habit of hunching his back to try to hide his chest more, but now he allows—forces—himself to stand up tall, like a kid on the playground trying to measure up to someone else.

There’s a mirror in the corner, so Oikawa walks over to it and examines his profile.

He doesn’t want to hold the drains – they’re warm and Oikawa _so_ doesn’t want to think about why—so he carefully puts them in the pockets of his sweatpants.

Despite the obviousness of the scars and the general state of his nipples, Oikawa decides he absolutely _loves_ how he looks.

He feels tears welling in the corners of his eyes and does his best to pretend they’re not there.

After another long moment, Sakamoto clears his throat.

“Sorry,” Oikawa says, turning back to the doctor.

“It’s fine,” Sakamoto says honestly. “This is a completely normal and common reaction. I do have some after-care instructions to go over with you, though. Let’s get through those and then you can go back to admiring how you look.”

Oikawa smiles, a bit embarrassed, but walks over to the exam table and sits down.

They discuss the fluid output, and Dr Sakamoto decides to leave the drains in for two more days. “I know they’re annoying and a little unpleasant, but it’s better to wait a bit more than to take them out too early.”

Oikawa sighs, but accepts his surgeon’s advice, not wanting to risk any complications or a slower recovery.

Next, Sakamoto gives him care instructions for his nipples. “They look dried out because they _are_ ,” he explains. “During the surgery, we removed them, trimmed them down, and reattached them. They were without their usual blood supply, so while they reattach completely, they’re going to be rather scabby looking. So, you’re going to begin moisturizing them twice a day, when you check the fluids.”

He procures a tube of ointment and shows Oikawa how much to apply. It’s _a lot_.

“There should be enough ointment for the gauze to stick to them. Be generous,” Sakamoto says.

Oikawa grimaces, but takes the ointment and nods his head.

“Still no lifting, not for at least another week, maybe two, and keep the bandages on even to sleep, also for at least another week,” Sakamoto instructs. “Schedule a follow-up for two more days, and hopefully we can take those drains out for you.”

“Got it,” Oikawa says, and Iwaizumi nods in understanding as well.

“Any questions?” Sakamoto asks. When they both shake their heads, Sakamoto stands. “Great, then I’ll see you in two days.”

 

When they get home, Oikawa takes off the loose-fitting shirt and goes to the bathroom to stare at his chest some more.

He _has_ been taking selfies, just mostly ones without his face in them, and he certainly isn’t posting them anywhere.

He’s managed to be stealth, somehow, with his groupies, and they follow him on every social media platform known to man.

Instead, he keeps these photos stored on his computer in a folder simply titled with the date of his surgery and nothing else.

He snaps a few more pictures, but really he can’t wait until he can take photos without the bandages. The wraps remind him of his binder, despite the fact that he never looked this flat in a binder.

He was muscular enough that he convinced most people that the roundness of his chest had been his pectoral muscles, but seeing how flat he is now, he realizes that he’s going to have to really work out for that to be true.

Maybe he can just run away to Tokyo for university and no one will notice.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says from the doorway. “Come down to the kitchen.”

“Why?”

“Just come on.”

Oikawa goes to put his shirt back on, but Iwaizumi stops him. “Leave it.”

Oikawa narrows his eyes.

“My parents are out, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Iwaizumi says. “Just come with me.”

When they get to the kitchen, there’s a stool next to the counter by the sink, and the table has been dragged to the edge of the counter as well. Oikawa sees his shampoo and conditioner on the counter, as well.

“I’m gonna wash your hair,” Iwaizumi says simply. “We don’t have any chairs that are tall enough for you to reach the sink, though, so you’ll have to kind of lay on the counter. The table is there for you to put your long-ass legs on, since otherwise you’ll probably fall. And I don’t want you to stretch or strain your chest.”

“Ooh, thank you!” Oikawa exclaims, and he hugs Iwaizumi as aggressively as he can with his chest bandaged and the drains still dangling.

Iwaizumi kisses him sweetly once, and then leads him to the chair.

“I’ll help you up, okay? Don’t strain yourself.”

It takes quite a bit of very slow maneuvering, but they figure it out eventually.

Oikawa has his head sort of dangling in the sink, and most of his torso fits on the countertop.

His sock-clad feet are on the table, so they put a dishcloth down to at least pretend that they were keeping the table clean.

It’s not the most comfortable position Oikawa’s ever been in, but it’s for a worthy cause: his hair is disgusting.

Iwaizumi turns on the water, waiting for it to get warm. They don’t have a sprayer, so he just fills a cup with water and pours it over Oikawa’s hair.

He does this several times, and Oikawa closes his eyes and relaxes into the sensation of warm water against his scalp.

When his hair is wet enough, Oikawa hears Iwaizumi fumble with the shampoo bottle, squeezing some into his hands.

As he works it into a lather in Oikawa’s hair, the soft, domestic intimacy of Iwaizumi washing Oikawa’s hair sends a pleasant warmth deep in Oikawa’s belly.

He feels like he might be smiling like an idiot, but it feels really good, and he’s not going to apologize.

All too soon, Iwaizumi’s magic hands are gone, and the warm water is sluicing through Oikawa’s hair to rinse the shampoo out.

When it’s gone, Iwaizumi’s hands are back in Oikawa’s hair, this time with the conditioner.

Oikawa lets out a little purr of a moan, relishing in the firm massage.

Thankfully, Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything, just keeps rubbing Oikawa’s hair.

And if he goes several minutes longer than strictly necessary, well… the bottle does say to let the conditioner sit a few minutes for best results.

 

The next two days pass in a dull blur of sleep, magazines, Netflix, and greasy ointment.

Oikawa cherishes the moments that he gets to take his bandages off, and very firmly ignores that large chunk of fleshy-goo that’s stuck to the inside of one of his drains.

At the next check-up, Sakamoto decides that the fluid is finally down enough to remove the drains, and Oikawa only barely pretends to hide his excitement.

He helps Oikawa remove the bandages, re-rolling them much neater than Oikawa ever bothers with.

“Alright, I’ll need you to take a nice big inhale, if you would. This will feel a bit strange, probably,” Sakamoto says. He waits for Oikawa to inhale, one hand on Oikawa’s shoulder as if to brace him, and then he grabs the right-side drain and its tube and _yanks_.

It’s not pain, exactly, but it’s sharp and startling and makes Oikawa feel like he needs to cough.

When the drain was in, he couldn’t feel it at all, but he sure as hell felt it on the way out.

Oikawa coughs a few times, trying to get rid of the strange sensation in his throat, and then he remembers that there’s a second drain.

“Ready for the other side?” Sakamoto asks, and Oikawa realizes he was taping a small piece of gauze over the hole left by the drain.

“Can I have a minute?”

“Sure.”

Iwaizumi is watching Oikawa carefully, and his face looks like a mixture of sympathy and trying not to laugh.

Oikawa glares at him.

“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi says. “But the face you made when he pulled it out was hilarious.”

“Would you like me to implant a tube in your torso and then rip it out a few days later so you can experience this very unique feeling?” Oikawa deadpans.

“No, no. I’m sorry, I won’t laugh.”

“Ready, Oikawa-san?” Sakamoto asks.

“Yeah, I guess. Now that I know what to expect, maybe it’ll be a little better the second time.”

Sakamoto moves around to Oikawa’s left-side drain, and Oikawa takes in a deep breath.

One… two… _yank_.

This time, Oikawa lets out a strangled sort of yelp on his exhale, because while the first one was uncomfortable, this one _hurts_.

Oikawa’s never been stabbed, but he imagines it feels something like this.

The first time, it had been fine after mere seconds, but this side is like a throbbing, stinging sensation that won’t fade.

“Holy shit,” Oikawa mutters.

“Sorry, that one was a little sticky,” Sakamoto says. “Your body thought the tube was there to stay, it seems, because the tissue was starting to grow around it.”

“Is that why it hurt so bad?”

Sakamoto nods. “But at least now it’s out.”

He affixes the gauze pad to the veritable hole in Oikawa’s side. “Now, let’s take a look at the nipples, shall we?”

He removes the gauze on Oikawa’s nipples, examining them briefly. His gloved index finger pokes around them and he mutters something to himself about the stitches.

Oikawa is mostly glad that he doesn’t have much feeling in his chest, because it would probably be horribly itchy and possibly painful to feel all those stitches. At the same time, though, it’s a very disconcerting thing to _see_ something touching him but not being able to feel it.

Sakamoto changes the dressings and then all too soon, it’s time to put the wraps back on.

“It feels so nice to breathe, though,” Oikawa laughs humorlessly.

“I know,” Sakamoto says, “but especially with the drains removed, pressure is our number one way to prevent swelling and fluid retention, so for two more weeks, it’s the wrap life for you.”

“Only two more weeks?”

“Well, that’s when I’ll want to see you again. If everything looks good in two weeks, you can start sleeping without them and just wrapping during the day. But we’ll see how it goes, alright? Think of it as an investment in your long-term healing.”

“Alright. Thank you, sensei.”

Sakamoto leaves, and Oikawa puts his shirt back on, fumbling the buttons. When he’s finally dressed, he lets Iwaizumi get the door since Oikawa still can’t really use his arms.

They’re on the train back to Iwaizumi’s house, squished together despite there being plenty of room in the car.

They’re looking through their phones, when Iwaizumi starts to chuckle.

“I found it,” he tells Oikawa in a low voice.

“Found what?”

“The face you made when he pulled the drain out.”

Iwaizumi shows Oikawa his phone screen.

[It’s a cat](https://images-cdn.9gag.com/photo/aKxDOAb_700b.jpg) whose eyes seem out of focus, its mouth open and tongue sticking out in a very strange expression indeed.  

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whines. “I do not look like that!”

Iwaizumi chuckles. “You made that exact face when the drain came out.”

Oikawa huffs, crossing his arms over his chest delicately. “So mean.”

“Would it make you feel better if I said you’re much cuter than this cat?”

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “You’re my boyfriend; you should absolutely think I’m cuter than that cat.”

“Fine, I see you don’t want my compliments.”

“That’s barely a compliment! Don’t be so stingy!”

 

It had been nice to get out, even if it was for a doctor’s appointment, so Oikawa decides that he doesn’t want to go home just yet.

He and Iwaizumi walk to the park down the street first, and sit on a bench and just relax.

It’s spring, and this would be the perfect weather to play volleyball, except that Oikawa can’t lift his arms.

He sighs heavily. “I miss volleyball.”

“It’s been like a week,” Iwaizumi laughs. “You’ll live.”

“I haven’t gone a week without volleyball since I started playing,” Oikawa complains. “Even when I had ankle and knee problems, I could still at least set to myself or something. Now all I can do is hold the ball and think wistfully of the good times when I could _move my arms_.”

“You’ve always been a bad patient,” Iwaizumi sighs. “I feel like a broken record here, but just give it time. You want the scars to heal cleanly, and for that, you can’t move your arms around. Taking it slow is frustrating—I get that—but it’s for the long term. Think of it as strategic inactivity, maybe.”

“’Strategic inactivity’? That might be the stupidest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Asshole.”

“I’m your favorite and you love me.”

“Nah, my favorite is Makki now.”

“Betrayal!”

“Speaking of Makki – and Mattsun, for that matter—have you talked to them?”

“I sent them a snapchat yesterday of my fingernail clippings,” Oikawa shrugs.

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Because I’m incredibly bored!”

“So why not actually _talk_ to them—have a conversation or something? That would be less boring, don’t you think? Certainly less disgusting.”

“But then I wouldn’t have had the delight of knowing that I made Mattsun ‘throw up in his mouth a little’,” Oikawa says, making air quotes.

“You’re awful.”

“Maybe.”

Iwaizumi smiles. “I love you, though.”

“Good,” Oikawa beams back at him. “I love you too.”

“So what would you say to meeting up with Makki and Mattsun later today?” Iwaizumi asks after a beat.

Oikawa makes a face.

“They keep asking me about you. They say you won’t talk to them, not even just a ‘I’m fine’ when they asked how your recovery is going.”

Oikawa looks out the window, watching the city zoom past them instead of having to look at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi sighs. “Tooru, what’s going on?”

“It’s weird, okay?”

“How is it weird to tell your friends that you’re healing fine? They’re worried about you.”

“Yeah, but I never talk about… _this_ stuff with them.”

Matsukawa and Hanamaki have known since end of second year about Oikawa’s ‘status’, as he calls it, but it was a very brief discussion and Oikawa had made it clear that it was not something he wished to talk about with them again.

He trusted them, which is why he told them, but he wasn’t really interested in divulging more information to them than that.

“They’re not asking for gritty details, they just want to know you’re okay.”

“Fine, I’ll text them.”

“Now that your drains are out, you could go out more, you know. Hang out with Makki and Mattsun. Or at least go see your mom, like you said you would.”

“Ugh,” Oikawa groans.

The train arrives at their stop, and they stand, Iwaizumi’s hand instinctively going to Oikawa’s back to steady him should he need it.

“It’s probably only going to get worse the longer you wait, you know,” Iwaizumi says as they step onto the platform.

“You’re right. Ugh, fine. I’ll go see her for a bit.”

“Want me to come with?”

Oikawa hesitates.

On the one hand, yes, he absolutely does want Iwaizumi to come with him, because if his mom gets too weepy or awkward, Iwaizumi can act as a buffer.

But on the other hand, he feels like he should be able to handle his own mom, who means well, despite her general lack of comprehension about his entire transition.

And if Iwaizumi isn’t there, Oikawa can also use him as a convenient reason to need to leave, should he need to.

(Oikawa never said he was mature, alright?)

“No, I’ll be alright,” Oikawa says finally.

“Okay,” Iwaizumi says, and kisses Oikawa’s temple briefly.

They walk to Oikawa’s house, hand-in-hand until they get close.

Oikawa vaguely wonders if there will ever be a good time to tell his parents that they’re dating, or if he’s just going to have to keep it from his family forever.

He can just imagine his mother finally coming to terms with his gender identity only to toss it all out the window and wail, “why couldn’t you have stayed a girl if you were attracted to boys?”

His father is so distant – both physically and emotionally – that Oikawa thinks maybe he wouldn’t have a reaction at all, and that might hurt worse than a rejection, in some ways.

Iwaizumi squeezes his hand gently one more time, and they separate. Iwaizumi gives Oikawa a small wave, and continues on to his own house, and Oikawa stares down his front walk as though a hard enough glare will reduce the distance between him and the door.

When nothing magically happens, of course, Oikawa sighs deeply and begins the inevitable walk up the sidewalk and lets himself inside.

“I’m home!” he calls out, half hoping that no one will answer.

“Tooru? Is that you?” his mother asks immediately. “Welcome home!”

So much for that. She nearly stumbles into the room and comes to a half about three meters from Oikawa, as though she’s appraising him.

“You look…” she stops herself. Reconsiders. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m doing fine,” Oikawa replies, hating how awkward he feels but not knowing what to do to fix it.

“Does it… hurt?”

Oikawa shrugs. “It’s pretty numb, actually. I can’t move my arms much, though.”

“What happened to your arms?”

“Nothing. It’s just that moving them pulls at the skin and tissue on my chest, so I have to keep them low. I can’t even reach for a bowl from the cupboard.”

“So, no volleyball,” his mother concludes.

“Yeah, no volleyball. Not for a couple months, actually.”

She smiles sympathetically. “Well, you’ll make up for it afterwards, I’m sure. You’ve always been so dedicated.”

Oikawa gives a small laugh.

He can tell she’s really trying, but she’s also managed to steer the conversation to the safe topic of volleyball in less than two minutes, so he knows that they haven’t really made _that_ much progress.

He feels like he should encourage even this very slight progress, though, if he wants to keep her moving in the right direction, so he does his best to keep up an upbeat demeanor.

He’s been doing this to her for years, and she falls for it willingly every time.

“So how are you? Not too lonely?” he asks. “How long is dad gone for this time?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine. And your father will be back in just another week. It’s a short trip, this time! Oh, and your sister and Takeru came by yesterday, and I had my book club earlier this week, too.”

“That’s good, that you’re keeping busy,” Oikawa says, trying not to let the stiffness come through in his voice. “What are you guys reading?”

She tells him about the book, and he feigns interest, and he thinks to himself that maybe nothing has changed, after all.

His mom will probably never be as supportive as he wants her to be, but she’s also no where near as horrible as she could be. And at least she’s here to try, unlike his father.

Maybe he needs to just accept her confused but ultimately supportive attitude, and rely on others for a more… unconditional love.

When she wraps up her book club story, Oikawa takes it as his sign to leave, but before he can draw a breath, she steps in close.

“Tooru,” she says seriously.

“Mom?”

“I want you to know that… I know I haven’t been perfect with, well, all of this. I really don’t understand it—this whole _thing_ you’re doing,” she says haltingly. She can’t even call it a transition or something neutral, apparently. “I’ve read about it, and I even went to a parent meeting at the LGBT center. And I just… can’t wrap my head around it.

“But I want you to know that even though I don’t understand it, I want you to be happy. And Tooru, you seem happy. Happier, I mean. I know you feel… awkward around me, but even through that, I can tell you’re happier. And that’s really all a parent can want for their child. I love you, Tooru.”

Traitorous tears well up in Oikawa’s eyes.

Oikawa’s mother is a good old-fashioned Japanese woman: she doesn’t _say_ “I love you”.

Oikawa doesn’t think she’s _ever_ said it to him directly, or if she did, he was too little to remember.

Sure, she was affectionate, and told him she cared for him, and that she wanted to keep him safe, or that she was happy he was her child, but never “ _I love you”._

All his reluctance and misgivings and disappointment seem to evaporate into thin air.

“I love you too, mom,” he says before he can overthink it or stop himself. “You’re right that I feel a little awkward, but it’s mostly because I don’t want to make you feel more uncomfortable than you already seemed. I know this is all confusing to you, and I’m just trying to appreciate that you’re mostly supportive, in your own way.”

“I _do_ support you,” she insists. “I just wish I knew how to support you better.”

“Just keep trying, mom. We’ll get there if you don’t give up.”

“Okay, Tooru. I won’t give up. Let’s do our best together,” she says, with a grin that says she knows she’s being cheesy.

She puts her hand out like she’s seen Oikawa’s volleyball team do countless times.

It seems silly to put their hands in like this when it’s only two of them, but he does it anyway.

“One, two, three, fight-o!” she says with a laugh.

Oikawa laughs at her more than with her, but he thinks maybe he should take his own advice, and not give up on his mom just yet, either.

She offers Oikawa tea, and he decides to take her up on it.

They talk for another half an hour – not about his surgery, or anything related to it, of course—but it’s the most comfortable he’s felt around his mother in a long time.

Being transgender plays a bigger role in Oikawa’s identity than he likes, sometimes, mostly because until this surgery, he’s had to struggle with dysphoria more days than not.

As much as Oikawa has socially transitioned, and as much as the hormones have helped, being transgender has occupied his thoughts almost as much as volleyball.

Perhaps only Iwaizumi knows the extent, since Oikawa doesn’t speak about it to anyone else.

And maybe that’s something he and his mom _should_ talk about more: Oikawa has always felt like it was a barrier between them, because of her refusal to just use the words she means. She won’t say trans, she says “like _that_ ”; she won’t say testosterone, hormones, or HRT, she says “ _that_ medicine”.

Oikawa just wants to let himself enjoy the relative ease of conversation for now, though, so he lets it go. They can build up to it, maybe.

He lets her talk about Takeru’s volleyball game she went to a while ago, and the news report she watched over breakfast this morning.

“Oh, and one of the ladies from my book club gave me a kimchi recipe – her new daughter-in-law is Korean, and they shared recipes, and Hana says it’s amazing,” she prattles, “so I thought I’d make that for dinner tonight.”

“Sounds good, mom. Though, I don’t think kimchi is a main course.”

“You’re right, but the rest of the food I’m making is just regular Japanese food, so it was less exciting.”

Oikawa smiles. “Well, I think it’s good to try new things.”

“You and Hajime-kun could come over, if you want. We can all critique the recipe together, maybe.”

“I don’t think we have any plans tonight,” Oikawa says. “I’ll ask him when I go back.”

His mother’s enthusiasm wanes for a moment. “You’re not coming home yet?”

Oikawa balks. “I—well, I wasn’t sure when… We hadn’t talked about it. And there’s still some, er, after-care that I need help with. And I didn’t think you’d be up for that.”

“Ah, well… probably not. If it involves anything bloody, definitely not.”

“It’s not bloody anymore, but it’s… probably still a little gruesome for you,” he admits.

“Oh, well alright. But you’ll still come to dinner?”

“Yeah, of course. And I’ll invite Iwa-chan, too, alright?”

“Alright, Tooru.”

They say their goodbyes, and Oikawa walks back over to Iwaizumi’s house.

“I’m back,” Oikawa calls.

“In my room,” Iwaizumi yells back.

Oikawa jogs up the stairs and finds Iwaizumi working on something on his laptop.

Oikawa leans against the door frame for a moment.

“How’d it go?” Iwaizumi asks without looking up from his screen.

“Shockingly well,” Oikawa says. “She invited us both to dinner tonight.”

“Oh?”

“I’m gonna go, but I said I’d have to ask you. Figured I’d give you an out if you wanted it.”

“You know I don’t mind hanging out with your mom. She’s awkward, but she’s a mom. She’s alright.”

“Well, still. It seemed polite, after all you’ve done for me this past week.”

“Oh c’mon, Tooru, this is nothing.”

“The drains were disgusting, and I made _you_ deal with them. Thank you, by the way.”

Iwaizumi chuckles. “Yeah, ok, that’s true. And you’ But still, I don’t mind. Dinner sounds good.”

“Alright,” Oikawa says, and texts his mom that both of them will be there. When the text is sent, Oikawa grins a bit wickedly. “Be warned, though, she’s trying a new recipe.”

Iwaizumi finally looks up from his computer, a look of mild despair on his face. “Is it too late to revoke my acceptance?”

Oikawa wishes he could throw himself onto the bed, but unfortunately, he has to move quite gingerly to get to a lying down position.

He cackles, but has to settle for sitting delicately on the edge of the bed.

It kind of ruins the effect.

 

 

Dinner turns out just fine, after all, though Oikawa is absolutely positive that what his mother has prepared is not kimchi.

Nevertheless, the conversation is nice, and while his mother doesn’t know it, it makes Oikawa happy that his boyfriend gets along with her so well, too.

When the dishes are cleared and the conversation is punctuated by more yawns than laughs, Oikawa and Iwaizumi head back to Iwaizumi’s.

Oikawa can’t help but notice the way his mother’s face falls when she says goodbye.

 

The next day, feeling inspired by the success with his mother the night before, Oikawa makes himself text Hanamaki and Matsukawa.

He just sends a simple “hey”, to them in a group chat, and instead of a text reply, he gets a video call.

“How the hell are you?” Matsukawa asks.

“We didn’t hear anything from you for a week, you ass!” Hanamaki says.

“I’ve been alright,” Oikawa says. “What are you clowns up to?”

 “Just our usual shenanigans,” Matsukawa says.

“Tom foolery, if you will,” Hanamaki chimes in.

“So you’ve been doing absolutely nothing,” Oikawa summarizes.

“Precisely, my good dude,” Hanamaki says, and Oikawa can hear the grin in his voice.

“And it feels good,” Matsukawa says.

“You haven’t even played volleyball?” Oikawa asks after a moment.

Matsukawa scoffs. “We’re not _you_.”

“Sorry, Oikawa,” Hanamaki adds. “I love the sport too, but we only have a few weeks before university. I want to _enjoy_ my break.”

“But you’ll be so out of practice when your teams start up!” Oikawa whines. “I _can’t_ play volleyball right now, so you have to do it for me, okay?”

“You’re gonna live vicariously through us, is that it?” Hanamaki laughs.

“How long are you out for, anyway?” Matsukawa asks.

Oikawa lets out a long sigh. “I’ll miss part of the pre-season,” he whines. “I can probably start doing light exercise in another three or four weeks, but lifting my arms is like… impossible.”

“Your arms?” Matsukawa asks.

“Oh, because it pulls on your stitches?” Hanamaki asks.

“Yup. And the surgeon said that it can increase the risk of swelling, fluid retention, and lead to bad scarring if I move them too much. I feel like I’m walking around with my arms glued to my sides.”

“Aww, poor thing,” Hanamaki coos.

“But hey, just think how great it’ll be once you’re all healed up!” Matsukawa says.

Oikawa grins. “Even not being able to move my arms, it’s pretty fucking great.”

“Good,” Matsukawa says. “I’m glad you’re already enjoying it.”

“Do you feel different?” Hanamaki asks, a bit hesitantly.

“Physically?” Oikawa asks.

“Well, I feel like that answer is a resounding ‘duh’. I meant more like, mentally.”

“Oh. Well…” Oikawa hesitates. He doesn’t really want to talk about this with them, because he’s uncomfortable and this has never been something they _discussed_.

A simple ‘yes’ seems like a disservice to their friendship, but Oikawa isn’t sure what to say.

“I guess the best way to describe it is that I feel relieved,” he says finally.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Matsukawa says.

“I mean, like, I’ve wanted this for years. And now… I have it? And I’m so… relieved, yeah. But also it’s kind of wild, because even though it was only a few days ago, I feel like I can’t remember what it was like _before_?”

“Your brain straight up deleted your dysphoria,” Hanamaki grins. “That’s pretty handy, to be honest.”

“Wish my brain would erase my early-teen traumas,” Matsukawa teases.

“Oh please, your awkward wet-dreams about our middle school math teacher don’t exactly compare to what Oikawa had to deal with,” Hanamaki chides.

“The severity of one trauma does not invalidate a lesser one!” Matsukawa whines.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough, children,” Oikawa laughs, but it feels better than he thought it would to talk so openly about this with his friends.

Before his surgery, Oikawa would never have dreamed of having this conversation. With his new chest, though, he suddenly feels distanced enough to make it okay, and even—dare he say it?—welcome.

It’s a weight off his chest, literally and figuratively.

The conversation slips back into familiar territory – excitement over their upcoming collegiate adventures, their parents nagging them about chores, and since Oikawa is present, volleyball inevitably comes back up.

As they’re saying their goodbyes, Oikawa is suddenly hit with a wave of realization that seeing his friends like this will soon be a much rarer event.

“I’m—” he begins, but then he doesn’t know if he wants to actually _say_ it.

If he says it, won’t it hurt more?

Won’t Hanamaki and Matsukawa tease him for being dramatic?

Does it really need to be said?

Hanamaki and Matsukawa are waiting for him to finish his sentence. With each second that drags on, Matsukawa’s eyebrows seem to rise further and further up his forehead.

“You’re..?” Hanamaki prompts.

 It needs to be said.

“I’m really gonna miss you guys, you know.”

Maybe it’s the openness they had shared earlier, or maybe he should give his friends more credit, but they both grin.

“You better,” Matsukawa says.

“I will personally mail myself to Tokyo and kick your ass if you don’t miss me enough,” Hanamaki says.

“How will you know if I’m missing you enough though?”.

“Oh, I’ll _know_ ,” he says cryptically, and puts on his sunglasses.

He misses his left ear though, so they hang crookedly on his face.

He makes no move to fix them, though, and Oikawa snorts.

“Meant to do that,” Hanamaki says.

“I didn’t say anything,” Oikawa says.

“We’ll still talk though,” Matsukawa reminds. “Group chat for life.”

“Group chat for life!” Hanamaki practically screams, and in the background, what sounds like Hanamaki’s dad yells at them to keep it down.

Oikawa shakes his head. “I sure hope that saying is true.”

“What saying is that?” Hanamaki asks.

“That absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Oikawa deadpans, “because I’m about to take back my ‘I’ll miss you’.”

Matsukawa and Hanamaki gasp melodramatically.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Matsukawa cries.

“ _Watch me_ , hooligans.”

“Alright, alright, pretty boy, we’ll see. We gotta get going, though,” Hanamaki says.

“Yeah. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

“Dream of me, Oikawa-san!” Hanamaki yells shrilly in a terrible impression of one of Oikawa’s fangirls.

“Oh my gosh good _bye!_ ” Oikawa groans.

They finally hang up, and Oikawa smiles to himself.

He really does have amazing friends.

 

*

University comes a lot faster than Oikawa is expecting.

Right after his surgery, time had stretched out like an endless expanse both ahead and behind him.

Now that he’s moved into his new Tokyo apartment, though, the last three weeks come crashing down on him and he feels nervous and a little overwhelmed.

His sister had come to help him move, since he still can’t lift anything much over five kilos, and Iwaizumi was busy moving his own stuff.

The thing that’s got him the most nervous, though—more than living on his own for the first time, more than university courses or living in a huge city – is volleyball.

He’s not used to volleyball being a source of stress like this. Sure, he’s always strived to improve, and there were times when he was worried about not improving enough. But this raw, jangly ball of nerves that gathers strength by the hour in his gut is new and terrifying.

The issue, of course, is that he’s not cleared for sports yet.

He can finally put shirts on over his head again, but that is a far cry from collegiate volleyball and his scholarship-worthy recruitment.

The official season doesn’t begin for a little while, but starting next week, the team is expected to do conditioning and ‘optional’ (read: mandatory, but slightly more casual) practices.

He hasn’t specifically asked his surgeon what he’s allowed to do, but after a few close calls, Oikawa thinks he knows his own limits pretty well.

He’ll just take things as easy as he can, maybe fake a shoulder issue – just a little soreness, so they don’t make him get scans or physical therapy or something – and he’ll be all healed up and ready to go in no time.

The plan is, of course, flawed from the start.

He _really_ doesn’t want to have to bother with coming out to anyone, even just the coaching staff, and he’s really not sure how to explain what kind of surgery he just had without it all coming out.

If he doesn’t say anything about having had the surgery, he doesn’t know how to explain his limitations without being sent to the athletic trainers.

It’s a sticky situation.

Iwaizumi chews him out, as expected.

“You have to tell them you had surgery, you idiot!” he yells, exasperated. “I get that it’s not gonna be comfortable, but you cannot lie to your coaching staff about a legitimate medical concern, and you sure as hell aren’t going to just play through it.

“Even without the other complications, your scars would heal _so_ ugly, and I know you don’t want that. So just suck it up and tell them.”

“Easy for you to say,” Oikawa grumbles, crossing his arms like a petulant child. Crossing his arms is not-so-secretly one of his new favorite things to do now that his chest is flat.

“I’ll help you write out notes if that’ll help you,” Iwaizumi offers, softening his manner. “But Tooru, come on. You know this is the right way to handle it. It may suck, but it’s what you need to do.”

“Why can’t Iwa-chan do it for me?”

“All those times you bitched that I’m not your mom and now you want me to talk to your coaches for you?”

“Pretty please?” Oikawa bats his eyelashes.

“You’re literally the worst,” Iwaizumi says, though there’s no heat to his words.  

“Mean, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, out of habit.

“Come on, let’s write it out together, yeah?”

It takes the better part of an hour to come up with something that is both truthful and doesn’t make Oikawa want to backflip into the sun out of awkwardness, but it’s written, at least.

 

Telling his coaches, however, is another story all together.

He fidgets awkwardly, worrying the edges of the notecard he wrote his little speech on.

The head coach looks at him with a look of somewhat bored impatience, and the two assistants look like his guard dogs, ready to launch an attack at the head coach’s indication.

“Well, what do you need to talk to us about?” the head coach asks.

Oikawa takes a deep breath and lets it out quickly. “I wanted to inform you of my current physical condition, as I am currently healing from a procedure.”

“A procedure?” the first assistant balks.

Oikawa nods, hoping he looks more confident than he feels. “It was about a month ago now, and I’m healing just fine, but my doctor doesn’t want me to do anything too strenuous just yet.”

The head coach narrows his eyes and gives Oikawa a good looking over, as though he has x-ray vision and can tell exactly what kind of procedure Oikawa had.

 _What if he’s an alien and actually_ does _have x-ray vision?_ Oikawa thinks stupidly for a split second.

In the moment that follows, Oikawa honestly has no idea if the coach is about to kick him off the team or shrug the whole conversation off. The moment drags on, and Oikawa knows he’s fidgeting, but he can’t seem to stop.

“Get me a doctor’s note outlining your limitations and your timeline for recovery,” the head coach says eventually.

“Of course,” Oikawa says.

Sensing the dismissal, Oikawa lets the tension out of his body enough to walk away from the coaches. He’s a little surprised he doesn’t just melt with relief.

The coach seems a bit, well, suspicious, given how tight-lipped Oikawa’s explanation had been, but for now, it seems to be fine.

Oikawa’s only a first year, and he’s not exactly expecting to be a starter right off the bat, but he really hopes that his playing time won’t be affected anymore than it already will be for medical reasons.

He can’t help but think about how this situation might have been different if this was a procedure due to an injury or illness that wasn’t his fault… Instead, it was something that he had carefully planned for years now.

He was a fool for thinking he could just squeeze it in between high school graduation and university.

His only hope is that he heals quickly, and that by the time the tournament season starts, he’s able to get some game time.

All he needs is one chance to step on that court, and he knows he can impress the coaches so much that they’ll never want to bench him again.

He just needs to _heal_.

 

*

 

And heal, he does.

Oikawa does everything he can to keep fit while his body recovers more fully, and his surgeon tells him that he’s taking good care of the scars.

He’s fortunate enough not to have any complications come up, and after about three months, he feels almost good as new.

Volleyball is so engrained in him that you wouldn’t even know he missed 10 complete weeks of training.

His movements are still a little slower than he’d like, and after matches he goes home almost immediately to check on his scars and massage them.

The sensation reconnecting nerves is a bit of an odd feeling, and it’s particularly annoying when it happens during volleyball, but Oikawa learns to ignore the zapping pains altogether. They only last a short time – forty seconds, tops – and it’s less a pain and more just a fuzzy kind of unpleasantness that he can’t seem to explain in a satisfactory way.

 

Going to university was going to be a big change no matter what, but Oikawa has to admit that his collegiate transition was perhaps more drastic than your average student’s.

For one, he had a major surgery right beforehand.

For another, he confronted his fears of discussing his identity openly with his friends, and healed his relationship with his mother.

And for one, final reason: Oikawa Tooru was _free_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to have this up for iwaoi day, but now it's just double iwa-chan day, i guess. 
> 
> My year-long goal of 150k is well under way ! Nearly 54k already :') 
> 
> Anyway, thanks again for reading, and come find me on tumblr as [ricekrispyjoints](http://www.ricekrispyjoints.tumblr.com), if you're into that kind of thing.


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